Blameless
by azure-tears
Summary: It's been three years since Mac's father died, but he still remembers like it was yesterday...


Disclaimer: I was in a very dark mood (and incredibly restless) when I penned this. It probably shows. If you have read Sunrise, Sunset, you might recognize a few things. And, for the record, in this story, Terrence's eyes are gray and Mac's are blue.

Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends does not and never will belong to me.

(One shot!)

**Blameless**

Mac left the apartment swiftly and hurtled recklessly towards Foster's. Today, more than any other, he had to be there. He needed a distraction to keep him from thinking about what today was and why his heart ached. His eyes skimmed the passing cars and trucks, picturing his father's death in his head for the millionth time. No one knew those particular thoughts and he wanted to keep it that way. No one needed to know Mac considered himself solely to blame.

**…**

He wanted to believe she was telling the truth, but he knew she was wrong. Knees buckled under him, but he refused to yield to their weakness. Voices whispered around him, but he ignored them. If he could get over his body's feebleness, he could get over anything. He just had to keep moving.

But how, when moving was so hard? Terrence said nothing, just watched him coolly. Bloo, worried and for once switching personalities with his creator, hovered anxiously. Five year old Mac waved him off and then stumbled forward again. His father hadn't died…when they got there, he'd see him and everything would be all right again…

It'd been a week since Mac's mother received the news his father was hit by a truck crossing a busy intersection. The reactions had been varying- Terrence screamed, rebelled, and started wrecking everything in sight. Bloo had been shocked and disbelieving, but Mac retreated into a shell. In fact, prying a single word out of him was next to impossible. He communicated through shaking or nodding his head.

Today was his funeral and his mother led him gently by the hand towards the procession filing up. Bloo held the other, but Mac pretended they weren't there. He didn't, wouldn't, couldn't understand where and why he'd vanished. The desire to flee bubbled and frothed within him. At least somewhere, anywhere else, he wouldn't have to hear these lies. He wouldn't have to hear his mother crying, Terrence's screams, and, worse yet, Bloo's concern.

Why did that thing have to be so concerned, anyway? He hadn't been created to be like, well, him. He'd been created to be selfish, conceited, and everything Mac wasn't. Now he sympathized and wanted to help…and Mac hated it. Right now, he hated everything about everything. He wished the world would spontaneously combust and leave him the only person on earth. Then he could find his father and be at peace.

Voices murmured apologies, but they sailed over Mac's head. Bloo gazed at him quizzically, but never spoke. Terrence snarled and actually flipped his father's best friend off. Sullen and as furious as his sibling, he flopped into a chair. This fury he would know well over the next few years, because it never left.

Mac, to avoid Bloo's probing questions, settled into the chair beside his brother. The raven haired boy scowled, narrowing his gray eyes. This was _his _spot. There were plenty of other chairs in the room, as far as he was concerned, the little brat could rot in them. He snapped this in an undertone, already in deep water for his vulgarity.

"You killed him, you know," Terrence hissed. "It's all your fault."

Bloo, hustled by the crowd, heard none of this. He bounced up and down, the same size as Mac and unable to see. Mac had never been more grateful for people in his life, though Terrence's words sank in horribly. The relief at spotting Bloo unable to interfere was destroyed by his brother's implication. His blue eyes scrutinized him and for a second, his gaze shimmered, unshed tears brimming.

"Dad was crossing the road to get _you _something. Mom told me. If you hadn't been born, he'd still be alive. You and your stupid bratty imaginary friend killed him," he snapped and when Mac opened his mouth to protest, he slapped him across the face. Stunned, he stared anew at his big brother.

"I wish _you _were dead instead of him. Maybe I'll throw _you _at a bus."

Tears blurred his vision and tightened his throat. Mac hung his head and hugged his knees to his chest. The desire to flee and never look back surfaced stronger than ever. If he really _had _been the cause for his death…if he really _had _been the reason…he was horrible…a waste of a life…he'd been responsible…

Legs gained a mind of their own and he slipped out of the chair to the floor with a soft thud. No one was watching him (other than Terrence, smirking at his misfortune) and, as if on cue, he felt them carry him away. Rooms, fancy stairs and his father's coffin blew past in a flurry of color. Doors impeded his progress, but he ran headlong into them and nearly collided into an adult. They blinked, wondering what on earth had happened, yet questioned it only for a moment.

His chest burned, his legs quaked, but he kept running. Cars honked, but he didn't hear them. Only when he could run no further did he stop, collapsing on cool, green grass. Around him, children played happily. He'd spurted all the way to the park down the street.

Panting, he rolled over onto his back and glared at the clear blue sky. Occasional clouds floated by, but they were thin wisps. He wished it would pour. He wished the kids around him would stop cheering and shrieking. He wished they understood he was a murderer and avoid him. He wished so many things…

Dusting sand off his black pants, he stood awkwardly and started to the jungle gym. Children retreated, wary of the look in his eye. Good. At last something went according to plan. Maybe they ought to throw sand at him and tell him he killed his father. He deserved it- he deserved their scorn.

"Mac?" a voice called and he turned towards him. No. _No! _How _dare _he come here! He didn't want him here! He didn't want _anyone _here! Fury burned deep in his chest and replaced straggling weariness.

"Are you okay, bud?" Bloo called, slithering/whatever to him. At the moment, Mac despised the way he couldn't even walk because he was a big, stupid blob. Then again, what did he expect? His creator was a murderer. Murderers didn't need imagination- they just killed.

"You're scaring me," he whispered, placing an arm on his shoulder. "Wanna come back?"

Mac ripped his arm off and snarled, shoving his imaginary friend to the ground. Loathing etched in his features, he threw himself down upon him and pounded him mercilessly. Shadows shifted closer, but all he felt was Bloo's blob beneath his fists. Bloo, confused out of his mind, tried to fend him off.

His attempts were futile, however. Mac barely felt his arms push against him or his shrieks. He barely heard the children cry and ran to their parents in trepidation. He was barely anything right now, including capable of halting.

"Killer!" Mac screamed, but he wasn't calling Bloo that. A dim part of his brain knew that. He was projecting his deepest fears onto him in the hopes it would get better. It didn't.

Had _he _forced the driver to speed up? Had he really caused his death? Terrence's words resounded like a gong and he punched Bloo brutally to shove them away. Yet with every punch, his conviction strengthened.

"What are you-? Stop! I didn't hurt you!" Bloo protested, waving his blobby arms. Before Mac could punch him in the mouth, strong arms yanked him off and two more gently placed Bloo on his feet. Mac glanced around wildly to find his mother and brother staring back at him, nonplussed.

Dried tears smudged his mother's mascara and Terrence's gray eyes were narrowed again distastefully. Nonetheless, beside his mother, he was reduced to glaring. Bloo squirmed under his creator.

"Mac, sweetie…" his mother murmured, unable to quite carry herself. Terrence shook him in his arms and Bloo's sad cerulean eyes took in them both.

"I wanna go home!" Mac cried, but his eyes were miraculously clear, devoid of any hint of tears. To his surprise, his mother nodded grimly and the four proceeded to the empty apartment. This day was never discussed again and no one ever knew that even three years later, Mac still thought he'd killed his father.

**…**

Frankie watched him play alongside Bloo and frowned, halting in her leaf raking. She wondered if sometimes, there was something he wasn't telling anyone.

**…**


End file.
